


Two Sides of a Silver Dollar

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Inktober/Goretober [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Acid, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Two-Face - Freeform, Violence, hand-wavy science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: Dick's a little concerned when they end up tracking Two-Face back to the chemical factory on the outskirts of Gotham.





	Two Sides of a Silver Dollar

Dick's a little concerned when they end up tracking Two-Face back to the chemical factory on the outskirts of Gotham. He can't see this ending well for anyone, not when the company owning the building specializes in the acid that was used to change Harvey Dent into the man he is today.

He makes sure to voice his concern. Repeatedly.

But it's not like Bruce hasn't thought of it already.

The warehouse is a buzz with activity when they get there. Hired thugs are moving heavy barrels into the building from delivery trucks parked in the loading bays. They have an unfamiliar logo on them, not a corporation, probably a rental. Dick perches on the roof, peers in through the large sky light and watches the proceedings down below.

He can spot the workers, bound and gagged but unharmed, safely out of the way of whatever it is Two-Face is doing. The barrels are hefted over the huge vats of chemicals and then unceremoniously dumped in. Some of it splashes over the edge and the people caught in the spray cry out as it hits their skin. They have to be dragged away as more of whatever liquid is in the barrels is dumped in, carefully this time. The colour changes from a clear yellow to a dark, poisonous looking brown.

"What do you think?"

Bruce meets his gaze across the sky light.

"He's altering the chemical makeup of the acid."

That's what Dick figured as well.

So it's just a matter of how they want to play this. He scans the warehouse floor, finding what he's looking for pretty quickly.

"Fuse box, north corner."

Bruces approving look shouldn't mean as much as it does.

Unfortunately he doesn't get to bask in it.

"Hey you! Stop!" A bullet accompanies the shout and Dick rolls, coming up behind a metal pipe jutting out of the roof, large enough to provide him cover.

Bruce tosses a batarang, darting the other way.

Maybe some day he’ll understand the logic behind yelling _stop_ and then _shooting at them_ like that will make them want to stay still.

Security splits up to catch them and they make short order of the hired thugs before reconvening at the sky light. The gunshots have definitely drawn unwanted attention though. The people down below are a swarm of energy, and as they watch, they drop the final barrel into the vats.

Dick glances at Bruce, switches to night vision and in one coordinated move he shatters the glass skylight while Bruce tosses something that takes out the power.

They swing down into the chaos it creates. Bullets are sprayed in the air. A few people cry out as they're hit instead. Dick's already on the floor, moving. He takes out one after another, getting them into sleeper holds as he keeps an eye out for Two-Face.

Someone gets a lucky hit in, jars his shoulder enough that his arm goes numb and he loses a baton, but he's ambidextrous from years of training, and using only his left hand isn't a difficulty.

It’s _annoying_ though.  

"Where are you bats?" Two-Face calls out and Dick spots him on the second story landing. He makes his way towards him but gets waylaid when he comes across the hostages.   
He gets them untied and directed to the fire exit before he turns back to the villain.

Bruce burns differently on his night vision lenses, a cooler colour than others. The materials the suit's made up of make it so Dick doesn't have trouble finding him in a crowded room like this. He's up on the second story level with Two-Face now and Dick's headed their way even as they exchange and block punches.

He has a general rule he's passed on to the other Robins: when it  comes to Harvey Dent, Bruce doesn't take him on alone.

All of Arkham has a personal history with him by this point, but aside from Joker, Two-Face is the one who always manages to sink so far under his skin.

Focused as he is on the two men, he still manages to duck as the baton he'd dropped is swung at his head. His right arm is still too sore to move, his shoulder is definitely dislocated but he doesn't have time to fix that right now. He brings his left up as the thug swings again, feels the vibration of the batons striking together. He drops down, takes the man's legs out and then swings, no time for finesse, just a baton to the head that has him out for the near future.

The lights blind him as they come back on unexpectedly. He stumbles, switches back to his normal lenses. He looks up. Two-Face gets in a good hit.

Bruce stumbles, hits the safety railing, and then tumbles over into the vat of acid.

"Batman!" The scream is torn from his lips. He feels his heart stop.

Two-Face spots him and the smile that stretches across his lips is grim.

Hands grab his arms and he fights them off, struggling. But there are more and more. The grip on his injured arm is agonizing. He's had worse, he tells himself, much worse. Ignore it.

He kicks, goes with his instincts because that's all he has right now. He can't think, can't piece together a coherent thought beyond he's gone. It's a nightmare he tells himself, and if he wakes up screaming in his apartment in Bludhaven, alone, it will be worth it because then at least Bruce will be alive.

His arm is jerked, back into place which is a bonus, but the searing pain distracts him.

His baton is wrenched from his hand as sheer numbers override him. He's hit in his stomach, the air rushes from him, his chest, he thinks he feels something crack. He sags in their grip, blinking away spots.

"Nightwing," He's dragged over to Two-Face. He snarls, lunges, but is held steady. The movement of his arm sends white hot pain through him and he bites his tongue till he can taste copper. "It's a two for one deal today."

"You bastard." He hisses.

The baton is swung again, hits his knee and he howls, legs giving out. They don't let him drop though, force him to keep pressure on his other leg and off his shoulder and knee. His head is swimming.

"Batman wasn't supposed to be here." Two-Face tells him, expression suddenly serious. "It's a shame he was."

"I'll kill you." He promises. It's with sudden clarity that he realizes how Jason feels when dealing with these monsters. Because after all this time, all these years, it's now that he can see himself wrapping his hands around Two-Face's neck until there's nothing left of Harvey Dent.

"Promises." He pulls his coin from his pocket and holds it out for Dick to see. "Now, should I let the boys toss you in too? To be with your caped crusader?"

Every eye in the warehouse is on the coin as it's tossed in the air. Dick's eyes are riveted on Two-Face. He doesn't know what he's looking for, remorse? Glee? But it's not there. Just a carefully controlled expression, a glint in his eyes. He doesn't know why he's still searching for hints of Harvey Dent when there's clearly nothing left.

Two-Face catches the coin, holds it out for everyone to see.

Dick starts struggling again at the appearance of the scarred side of the coin.

“Looks like we have a second test subject!” The villain crows and leads the way up to the platform he’d just pushed Bruce from. Dick kicks and claws, receives a blow to the head for his troubles and then he’s airborne.

Laughter fills the air and for one paralyzing moment he’s suspended in time. He barely has time to feel the terror of the painful death that’s in store for him before he hits the liquid and sinks.

He thrashes, nearly inhales the liquid, feels it burning away his skin to the muscles and bones underneath killing him excruciatingly...wait.

His lenses protect his eyes from whatever liquid he’s in and he squints through the murkiness. He has too much skin exposed for it not to be eating away at him, even if it takes a bit to get through his suit.

Whatever this is, it’s _not acid_.

He breaks the surface, coughing and gasping.

The liquid isn’t thick, it’s closer to water than anything else. He treads, peering up at Two-Face’s smirk.

There’s an uproar at his reappearance. A mixture of dismay and glee.

“What the hell did you do?” He chokes, nearly gets a mouthful of the stuff.

“Looks like it was a success boys!” Two-Face ignores Dick, turns instead to his henchmen.

Dick misses the rest of his speech as he realizes what this means. He takes a deep breath and dives back under. The vat is easily fifteen feet deep, ten feet wide. His ears scream as he dives, eyes searching frantically in the dim light for a sign of anything, anyone that could be Bruce. If he survived this, Bruce _must have_.

He pops up again, takes another deep breath, ready to dive back under.

There’s a gun pointed at his head now and it’s enough to make him pause. Two-Face stares down the barrel at him, coin held in his other hand. He could go under again but without a respirator he’d have to come back up. There’s nowhere to go, when they could just pepper the vat with bullets till they hit him.

“Thanks for being such a good test subject.” He sneers. Tosses the coin and Dick tenses.

There’s an explosion and the coin hits the floor instead, rolling out of sight. Two-Face whirls around shouting,

“Who the hell set off the bomb early?”

A line is dropped in front of Dick and he grabs it eagerly, already climbing it as Batman swoops in to tackle Two-Face to the floor. The gun skids away, falling out of sight. He gets high enough, or as high as his arms going to let him, swings, and lunges, taking out two of the thugs headed for Bruce with guns. His knee screams as he pushes off of them but he ignores it, spots one of his batons and scoops it up. A secondary explosion goes off and Dick realizes Two-Face is blowing the labs and all the research in it. The area’s clearing quickly with the explosions, the thugs hightailing it for the exit. They won’t be getting far now. He can hear the wail of sirens as Gotham’s finest make it to the party.

He stands back to enjoy the view as Bruce corners Two-Face and knocks him out, a little more ruthless than usual. He slings the villain over his shoulder and carries him over to where Dick is waiting, resting the majority of his weight on his good leg.

“I thought you were dead.” He murmurs as they zip tie Two-Face to a pipe. Officers swarm in and they wave them over.

Bruce pulls something from his belt, pressing it into Dick’s hand. A respirator.

“You _knew_.” He accuses and Bruce shrugs.

“Considering the location, there weren’t many options for what Harvey would want to do with the acid. Destroying it, and the research connected to it, was the most logical.”

“Most logical.” Dick repeats, handing back the small device. “Right.”

His ribs twinge and he winces. Bruce catches it, of course he does, and finds them a backdoor to sneak out of. Right now he doesn’t need to be hobbling around in front of Gotham’s finest. He keeps an arm around Dick’s waist, strong, sturdy, keeping him upright when his knee tries to give out again. He foresees some vacation time in his immediate future.

The ride back is silent, but Bruce is out of the car and at Dick’s side before he can attempt to lever himself out of the seat. It’s certainly not the first time they’ve done this dance. Bruce gets his arms around Dick, takes his weight almost _too_ easily, something Dick thinks about _often_ and somehow they manage to get stripped out of their costumes and into civvies.

Bruce’s touch is clinical as he checks Dick over, bandages his ribs, his knee, tries to get him a sling for his arm that Dick flat out _refuses_. It almost becomes an argument but it looks like they’re both too tired for it, adrenaline crashing. Instead they hobble up through the silent house.

He doesn’t comment when Bruce steers him down the hall to his own room, or when Bruce pulls back the covers and helps Dick crawl in on one side of the bed. He slides a pillow gently under his sore knee, makes sure his ribs are propped up and as comfortable as they can be and then just...hovers.

“What?” Dick groans, exhausted, sore, and ready to cuddle already, minus Bruce’s freak outs.

Bruce shakes his head, purses his lips.

“Then get in here.” He stretches his good arm out, reaches for him and Bruce caves, sliding in next to him, linking their fingers together.

He’s tense beside him, barely touching him except for where their fingers are twined together. He tugs, ignoring the little twinges that shoot through him at the movement, insistent until Bruce is pressed solidly against his side. Dick rests their hands on his stomach, purposely  exaggerating the rise and fall with each breath until Bruce starts to relax next to him.

“When did you get out of the vat?” He yawns, curious despite his body's insistence that he sleep.

“When they grabbed you.” Bruce’s voice is quiet, a warm puff of air against Dick’s cheek.

He turns his head, meets Bruce’s gaze.

“I would have done the same thing.” He says evenly. If that was the only opportunity Bruce had then he had to take it. A few bruises don’t mean anything so long as they both make it out of there alive.

Bruce surprises him, leans forwards, brushes their lips together. It can barely be called a kiss but it warms him down to his toes. It’s a terrible idea. It’s a _fantastic_ idea.

“That was a terrible kiss.” He grouches, a hint of a smile creeping across his face. “And here I was under the impression you were some sort of playboy.”

Bruce rolls his eyes but Dick can feel his grin when he presses it against his lips, squeezes their tangled hands. He hums, soaking up the feeling, memorizing every second of it for when they’re inevitably at each other's throats again and then just feels.

  



End file.
